I mean, it's not half-bad ... wait, pregnant? Fuck that.

You look over your body in the mirror, a little too stunned to really have come to grips with this yet. Jesus, you are fine, though. And it’s not like you haven’t wondered … but you have stone zero interest in getting pregnant, much less taking care of a kid.

“Better cover these up!” you sigh to yourself, grabbing a shirt from the clean laundry you haven’t unpacked. You slip it over your head to get some modesty on your frankly banging rack, but it’s clearly a bit too big for you. On the upside, it slinks down pretty effortlessly to cover the cute bubble butt that’s a clear improvement over your own model. You tug your wavy, long hair out from the back of the shirt, letting it cascade down your back, and look into your new, very blue eyes.

The wildness of the situation makes it so hard to take seriously. Part of your brain itches about how to explain this to anyone, but not having to do it right this second lets your better take into account the stunning brunette woman in the mirror. You can’t help but grin a little, kicking your legs on the edge of your bed.

It feels … nice. The new body. You’re sure other parts of it feel nice, too, but you tug yourself back from the edge of jumping down that hole as your phone pings. You look at it, then roll your eyes when you realize you can’t read it on your nightstand from here.

“Could have at least fixed my eyes,” you huff, picking up the phone and pulling it closer. You also retrieve your glasses, putting them on and adjusting them a little before popping your messages open.